HD 'Prodigal'
by tigersilver
Summary: AU; EWE. Set just post-war. The incredibly cliched moment of 'wand return', this was a fast & furious fic that tumbled out. PWP, naturally. Absolutely.


**HD 'Prodigal'**

_For the ever-wonderful Cheryl, for her birthday. Happy many more, too, bebe!_

"'Bout time you turned up at my door, Potter. What took you?"

Draco sneered but he was, in all reality, _angry_; steaming-boiling-mad, hot-under-the-collar with the pure, unadulterated resentment type of _angry_. Furious, even.

"Er—"

"Well? You'd better come in, hadn't you? Chop, chop, Potter. I haven't all day to waste on you." Glaring, Draco stood aside with a sharp stamp of his boot heels on the tiled foyer floor and waited impatiently for the little git to get his arse over the doorstep.

"Look, uh, Malfoy, I just came to return this," Potter looked nervous; sounded it, too, as if he was afraid Draco would hex him just for showing his gittish little viz at Malfoy manor. Draco huffed. Hex, schmex! Not a fuck of a lot he could do without a decent wand, was there?

"Did you, then? Certainly took your bloody time about it, Chosen One," Draco snipped. "I'm surprised you found a moment in your busy schedule, what with all that adulation and pandering, oh, Great Saviour."

Oh, now, _that _was riling Potter up a bit. Draco snorted and admitted inwardly he was pleased with Potter's eye-roll and all the other tiny tells of a growing irritation. It was good Potter should be irked; Draco wanted him that way.

"Malfoy?" Potter had managed to step across the lintel—just barely. He was already holding out a wand case, his fingers gingerly curled about it as if they couldn't bear to be tainted. Draco frowned his displeasure, his brow furrowing. "Malfoy, just take it already! I'll be off then; won't need to ever bother you again—I hope."

"Not likely, Potter," Draco bit out. 'I suspect you'll be bothering me for many long years to come, if we go by precedent. Now, come the fuck in, Potter! I'm not going to bite you!"

"I, er. I've, um, some other things to do today—" Potter waffled, looking supremely uncomfortable, "and I really shouldn't—"

"Au contraire, prat. You should," Draco corrected him urbanely. 'It's not every day you get to lord it over a Malfoy, is it? Take advantage, why don't you? Step into my parlour; have some tea." He'd snagged Potter's forearm—not the wand box, which he quite carefully avoided, but Potter's sleeve—whilst he was speaking, and tugged the reluctant chap forward with every pause and clause. "Come on, Potter. Tea."

"No!" Potter resisted, dropping his arm in an effort to shake Draco off. "No, really, I can't—I wasn't—"

"And why not?" Draco demanded. "Too good for the likes of a disgraced ex-Death Eater now? Can't stand to be seen with me, even in the privacy of my own home?"

"No! That's not what I think, Malfoy! Stop sticking words in my mouth!" Potter protested. He was shifting from nervous-and-antsy to irked-and-interested right before Draco's very eyes, which narrowed to assessing slits.

"This is not the place for this, Potter," he replied calmly, though he didn't let Potter's sleeve loose. "Even Muggle-raised Wizards know you don't discuss matters of importance on the doorstep. Now, come in and cease your dawdling." He put every ounce of innate command and expectation of 'snap-to' response he had into it, Draco did, and was rewarded by Potter taking two steps forward, almost as if he were Imperio'd.

"Wait—look, no!" Potter caught himself and halted. "Look, I'm just here to give this back to you, Malfoy," he explained, reasonably. "I don't require tea or meaningless small talk to do so, alright? Just—just take it, please."

"No," Draco was quite firm about that. He didn't release Potter's robe, either. "Take tea or not, as you will, but you're not just dumping that dratted wand on me and leaving, Potter. I won't have it."

"But—but why?" Potter appealed. He looked up at the determined grey eyes boring into him and blinked in confusion. "I mean—you need it back, Malfoy, so what's the big problem? And you never cared if I was polite before, so I don't get why now, all the sudden—"

"Oblige me, Potter," Draco interrupted. "I've not had a great deal of pleasant company these last few weeks. You could at least fill me in on the details, you know. And yes—tea is required."

"I really, really can't, Malfoy," Potter actually had the gall to come across as apologetic, as if he were now feeling sorry for Draco Malfoy, of _the_ Malfoys. "Ginny's expecting me, and—"

"Fuck Ginevra Weasley, Potter, though I'm sure you already have. She's not here; I am, and I want your company. Now, get your arse into my parlour, Potter, and stop faffing about!"

With that, Draco took a much firmer grip on Potter's robes and dragged him, almost literally, down the hallway, Potter protesting all the way.

"Malfoy! Unhand me, you twat!" he demanded, struggling, as Draco did indeed have both hands on his person now, at wrist and opposing shoulder, for steering him. Potter, ever the Gryffindor gentleman, hadn't yet reached the point of forcibly ripping himself from Draco's evil overlord grasp, but he was well on his way to it.

"No, Potter," Draco replied even more firmly, and manhandled Potter straight through the first doorway he came to, which fortunately happened to be the parlour. Once inside, he let go, but only to biff Potter hard on one shoulder. "You owe me, you git. You took my wand, my pride, my reputation, my—I mean, you _owe_ me, Potter. Have some fucking tea! Talk to me for once!"

"But, why?" Potter wailed. He stuck the box out again, perhaps thinking Draco might absentmindedly relieve him of it so he could Apparate the hell out of there, but no such thing. Draco wasn't born yesterday. "I don't understand, Malfoy! You hate me! You've always hated me! I don't get why you saved me that time; I don't get why your mum did, either, much, but still—there's no reason for us to talk, Malfoy! Just take your blasted wand back and be done with it!"

Draco drew himself up to the utmost of his formidable height. He towered over Potter, fuming. "No! You're the one who doesn't get it, Potter, you terminal idiot! I don't want the frigging thing back, alright?"

"What?" Potter asked blankly. He looked puzzled, which was frankly adorable. Draco was already hard as rocks just having him here-finally!-in the Manor; he didn't need the added fillip of Potter being adorable on top of his already seven-years-in-the-making jag of sexual frustration. Highly irritated, Draco ground his teeth and clenched his jaw.

He slapped the wand box right out Potter's loosened grip in retaliation for Potter's total pratdom. Potter's jaw dropped as it clattered across the marbled floor, the contents spewing out carelessly on the edge of the Aubusson carpet.

"What?" Potter asked, weakly. "Malfoy—"

"Shut up!" Draco was already surging forward, his hands on Potter's slender shoulder bones, shoving. He'd Potter up against the wall by the door before Potter could even formulate a response. "Shut the fuck up, you stupid blind arsehole!"

"Wait!" Potter wriggled a bit, trying to escape, but Draco was having none of that nonsense—and no more of this fruitless talking, either. It sure as shite wasn't getting him what he wanted, which was Potter naked. He snogged him, instead, to shut his pratty, pretty mouth.

"Oooo-errr," Potter twisted his head on his neck, taking evasive action and trying to say something—pointless, no doubt, at least in Draco's informed opinion. "Dra-!"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, you stupid Potter," Draco muttered fondly and went back in for the coup de grace. He shoved his hips against Potter's, hard enough to imprint his stiffie into Potter's shifting thigh like a bloody intaglio; he angled his head just right to stifle any words of negation Potter might come up with on the fly, and he shoved his tongue practically down Potter's adorable esophagus. "Mmmm," Draco groaned, and was pleased as punch when Potter moaned back at him, swallowing. _Now _he was getting somewhere worthwhile.

"Nh-nh—Draco!" Potter rasped, when Draco allowed him a random gulp of oxygen, "Wh-what?"

"Shut up, Harry," Draco ordered and Potter, perhaps surprised that Draco knew his name, much less actually used it, did that. Draco took immediate advantage, snogging him again, and this time getting a hand on Potter's hard-on.

Nice to know Potter had a hard-on as well, damn it! It wasn't as if Draco wanted this—oh, alright, he had, yes, but shut up!—or had ever asked for it, but, by Merlin, he wasn't about to do 'unrequited' like some fucking Hufflepuff! He wanted Potter, yeah—had for while—and Potter would probably want him—how could he not? Draco was a Sex God!—ergo, Draco would have Potter, ipso facto.

But Potter, the sneaky shite, hadn't given up. He was wiry as a little devil under those robes of his, and a real demon at dirty fighting. Draco just narrowly averted taking a well-placed knee to his groin. He drew back, pained surprise all over his face.

"What? Stop, Potter—I'm just trying to snog you, for Salazar's sake. What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal? What's the big deal!" Potter practically screamed it. "More like, what the _fuck,_ Malfoy? You. Hate. Me! Read my lips, feckwit—are you _mad_?"

"I do _not_ hate you, Potter," Draco crowded forward, getting Potter back where he wanted him, using all his advantage of body mass and superior reach to do so. "Merlin, Harry—you're the one who did this to me! Take fucking pity, will you?"

"I did this to you? _I_ did? You're bloody barking, Malfoy! I've never once touched you—"

"And don't I know it, Harry," Draco broke in, frowning at the memory—or lack. "Not the way I wanted, at least. Look, just stop with your infernal blather for a moment—I'm dying here," and Draco fit his lips securely over Potter's again before Potter could get another word in edgewise. "I need you," he muttered against the corner of Potter's mouth. "_Now_."

This time he used all the tricks he knew, though. Just plain snogging wasn't cutting the mustard; he needed full-on frotting, or a hand-job or something; anything to make sure Potter stopped the ceaseless struggling. Draco was famished; he hadn't seen hide nor hair Potter in almost two fucking months; hadn't laid hands on him in much, much longer than that, and he was about to curl up and wither away with deprivation.

"Oh, that's it, Harry—that's it!" he encouraged, having gotten Potter's flies open and stuck his hand down there. Potter had a very nice dick: long for his height and thick, smooth and arrow-straight, of course, as he was a bloody Gryffindor. Draco's cock veered off just a bit to starboard, but he'd found that useful, shagging, 'cause it seemed to hit the 'spot', most times, for Witch or Wizard.

"Yeah, Harry, come on," he crooned, nibbling at Harry's impossible hair, his red-hot ears, his inviting nape. "That's it." Draco had him truly pinned to the wall and Potter—thankfully—had finally slowed down with the pointless moving about. His eyes were open, though: big green orbs of horrified shock—but _not_ disgust.

"What?" Draco asked, nibbling up Harry's throat, "what's the matter, Harry? Why're you still fighting me?" He was more than happy with current results, even so; a little tussle spiced it up but Potter's reacting as if he were unclean would've pretty much slayed him outright, and he hadn't hung on this long just to die over some hurt feelings.

"Wha-wha-what're you doing?" Potter wanted to know. "Malfoy?" His voice was nearly gone; what was left was quite squeaky and airless, but his shock didn't extend to his cock, thank Merlin. That was nicely engorged and standing at the ready in Draco's palm, and Draco was pleased as all get out by its overall enthusiasm.

"Going to fuck you, actually, Harry. Right here, I think," he added judiciously, hurriedly dragging down Harry's trousers to below his hipbones with the hand that wasn't caressing Harry's John Thomas and fiddling his hole. "Yeah," he went on, finding no flaws in that idea. "Sounds like a plan."

"You-you-you can't just shag me!" Potter wailed—er, yelped, and seemed to be summoning up the energy to resist Draco again. Draco firmly squashed that rearguard, tout suite.

"Yes, I can," he answered, and bit Harry's earlobe hard, tweaking a nipple and twisting it. Harry went limp against the wall—except his cock…which was by no means limp. "And I will—I am right now, for that matter. Don't even try and stop me, Potter, you pissant. 'M'not having that, either—bloody cheek!"

"No—no, Malfoy, you really can't'!" Potter replied raggedly. He still moved fitfully under Draco's hands—lips, hips, thighs, whatever Draco had pressed against him, which was damned near all of Draco. "You just can't! There's Ginny, and—and—I!"

"And nothing, Harry!" Draco exclaimed, pulling back far enough to stare at him with distinct disapprobation. "My claim on your arse is much, much older than that gormless little bint's! And you know it, Harry—I've been wanting for bloody seven years now! Give up the innocent act, already, will you?"

"You-you have?" Huge green eyes—oh, gods, Draco felt like he'd just drown in them, full tilt. Instead, he grimly redoubled his furious efforts to expose Potter's bits for the ready taking—and easy access from below. The trainers and cotton trousers went first. Draco had very dexterous feet and ankles, really.

"I have," he confirmed. "Hup! Legs go 'round my waist, Potter—that's it. Good," he commended, as Potter did as he commanded-finally. That was a light at the end of the tunnel for Draco and for once, it wasn't the Hogwarts Express.

"I-you-but I—" Potter was spluttering, so Draco shut his flapping trap for him by snogging him again, at length. He ripped all the buttons off his shirt, too, and Vanished his robes and skivvies for good measure. Potter still struggled feebly, though he seemed to be getting weaker under Draco's relentless onslaught.

"Cease that shite now, damn it!" Draco ordered, "Gods! But you talk too damned much, Harry! And you fidget too much, too! Just breathe, okay? This might be a little tight."

"Nghh! Ngh! Stop it!"

"I will not stop, Harry—no way, no how, not now!" Draco replied, his teeth gritting. His poor fucking forefinger was being strangled and mashed; how he'd ever manage to get his cock up Harry's arse without it being cut off at the nub, he didn't know. Clearly, more cooperation was needed. "Not ever…idiot git," he muttered, still antagonistic, and snogged Harry again, to their mutual satisfaction, at last.

Harry did like kissing, it seemed, when it was done right. No teeth banging, and nice and slow and steady. Soft and then hard, with lots of tongue. He liked it a lot, apparently. Draco filed that tidbit away for the future as an interesting and useful item, and tickled Harry's tonsils in the meanwhile. And his fuzzy 'nads, which were getting tight and heavy, like hot, firm prunes nestled in Draco's rolling palm. He released them and went back to stroking Harry's dick: long sweeps up and down, with a twist at the end, just as _he_ liked, and gods, yes, but didn't Harry like that, too!

"Mmm, Draco," Harry murmured sultrily, and tilted his throat back so that Draco could suck on it. He did, with good will—and bit it, as well, on the collarbone, and then sucked all that much harder, at one certain point right at the collar line—so the frigging ginger bint couldn't possibly mistake it as anything other than a love-bite.

Not that he was letting Potter go—oh, no. Two fucking months it had been and Potter well nigh vanished off the face of the earth for all the access Draco had to him, wandless and mostly friendless and still stupidly reviled by the Press.

"I missed you, Harry," he muttered, and stroked harder. "Don't do that again, please."

"Wh-what? Do what?"

'What' seemed to be the word Harry stuck to when he was in a daze—be it confusion or lust—the annoying word 'what', over and over. Draco punished him for unnecessarily repetitive usage-hah! who was he fooling?—by adding another finger to the one twisting in Harry's arsehole.

"What, _what_?" Draco asked indulgently, enjoying the nonsense. "You like that, Harry? You should, damn it. It's all for you, Harry—everything's for you," he purred happily and nuzzled into Harry's nape; his yummy hair. "Harry," he added again, just for the sheer pleasure of saying it aloud and knowing Harry was finally right smack in front of him to hear it, in the flesh.

"Oh, Harry, I missed you." All right, Draco thought—well, admitted silently to himself—he did sound like a bloody girl, yeah, but he _had_ missed Harry; there was no denying it. Had been barely half-alive since the Trials.

"Um, er," Harry answered, with his usual eloquence, till Draco's actual meaning walloped him sideways. His eyes widened again, in yet more shock. "Look, Malf—_what_?"

"I missed you, prat," Draco said again. "Deaf, much?" He kissed Harry's nose fondly and muttered a wandless lube spell, something Hogwarts teenagers had found quite useful from Year Three on—well, _he'd_ been a Second Year, but there were special circumstances in his case. Called 'Potter', as if there was ever any doubt.

"I want you, Harry. Now. Let me?" Draco wasn't sure why he was actually asking this; he shouldn't bother, since Harry didn't seem to know his own mind and Draco had had to firmly direct him—well, force him, to be brutally honest—to this crucial junxture in their lives. But still... it was Harry. Draco wanted Harry to want it.

"Ready?" he asked, and the question hung like a fucking bomb in the air between them, ready to explode. Harry-his mindlessly blathering Harry-didn't say anything at all, or nod, or even shrug, and Draco's stomach twisted, hard.

His fingers—the ones gripping Harry's bits and hip—they relaxed a little. Draco's eager face fell—he'd been so sure; damned certain sure, could bet on it sure, that Harry would—that he'd—

"Yeah…alright:"

Oh, thank Merlin! Draco breathed out a huge sigh of relief—and exasperation. "Bastard! I thought you were going to say no for a minute, you little prick!" he scolded. "Don't do that—I nearly suffered heart failure, Harry!"

"Yeah?" Harry had his eyes open again—he'd closed them whilst considering and also turning Draco's dreams arse over tea kettle, incidentally—and now he was right back to his old self: annoying, challenging and a right git.

Draco flat out adored it. "Oh, yes, Harry. Now—once and for all—_ready_?"

Harry smiled, and the grey pall that had hung over Draco for longer than he could remember finally broke apart. It was a fucking beautiful day in the neighborhood! He pulled his fingers out and stuck his cock in.

Fucking Hades! Tight-tight-tighter than a garrote, was Harry Potter.

"Did'ja—did'ja ever do this before, Harry?" he managed, trying not to swallow his tongue and go very, very slowly at the same time. Not an easy task, when all one wanted was to bury oneself in Harry Potter and keep him fucked to the wall for years. Years. Maybe decades. They'd fuck and fuck some more, have tea and a bite to eat, and then shag in the loo.

A fine plan.

"No," Harry admitted. He blushed beet red. "Not. Ever."

"Ah!" Draco was so ecstatic he could have danced a Highland jig. He controlled himself instead, and thrust forwards another bare inch. "Th-that's gooood," he hissed, utterly delighted.

"Why?" Harry demanded. He was having difficulties breathing properly, too, Draco noted. Another inch, then, for good measure, and some cock-stroking handwork to keep Harry's mind occupied whilst Draco stretched him out. _A virgin! A fucking virgin!_ Draco's mind screamed, jigging that jig with vigour and glee, but Draco manfully ignored that tiny evil terribly possessive part of himself. He _did_.

"Just…because," Draco muttered, leaning into snog Harry so he'd be very distracted, and wouldn't mind the pain at all. That worked—almost too well, as Draco forgot to stop his stroking and Harry nearly came in his hand. "No, no! Wait, Harry! Together, alright? Can you do that for me?" he begged and dropped Harry's cock like it was a hot potato. Another few inches in a bit of a rush and voila! He was all in, and Harry had better appreciate his full size, as it was nothing to sneeze at.

"Muh-meah-ngh!" Harry replied, which was fine. Draco didn't need Harry to be sensible anyway; not for this.

"Just hang in, Harry. It'll get better in a sec, I promise. Just breathe. In, out, in, out—that's good. Good boy, Harry," he encouraged.

That sally earned him a glare but a twist of his hips had Harry's eyeballs rolling in his head and the glare was lost to an expression of extreme pleasure, the first one Draco had seen on Harry's face since he'd stopped wanking him off. "Ah!" Draco exclaimed, happily. "I found it, then."

"Mmmph?" Harry's eyebrows went up quizzically, even as Draco claimed his lips again.

"Prostate, Potter," he replied, when he was satisfied Harry wasn't in any condition to be asking further questions. 'I'm going to move now, alright?"

He still could, though. He asked a bunch more once he started shoving his cock in and out of Harry's still painfully tight arse.

"Did you think of me at all, Harry?" Draco wanted to know. "I thought of you constantly—fucking twat, why are you so stuck in my head? It's all I ever do, think of you and then you fucking don't pay attention, Harry. You are a fuckwit, you know that?"

Harry blinked and looked a bit taken aback at being railed at and roundly cursed by the person currently battering his newly introduced prostate into quivering submission. Then he got into it on his own, shoving his hips hard back at Draco, using the wall behind him for leverage, and Draco's monologue descended to utter nonsense.

"I love you!" he babbled, and couldn't seem to stop talking. "Love you, you dork, and you never bothered to look at me unless it was to hex me. Fucking would die for you—almost _did_ die, Harry! Oh, gods, fuck, Harry! Harder!"

They were like rutting young animals, the two of them. Draco could have wagered they would be and won handily, but he wasn't thinking of much by that point. He'd grabbed at Harry's lovely cock again—thinking random thoughts of it in him, which would be very randomly lovely—and gripped it and pulled out whilst he pushed in. That made Harry lose the page altogether, apparently, as his head lolled back on his neck and he went boneless, so that only Draco's straining leg muscles and pounding pelvis kept him propped up against the plaster.

"Fuck you, Harry!" Draco panted, as he was still articulate, though not at all coherent or of sound mind. "Fuck you for leaving me like that; love you for staying—didn't have to stay, you know—thought I'd die, anyway; figured it."

Harry must not have been totally out to lunch, as he grabbed Draco's shoulders very firmly at that and hung the Hades on, back on track with the hip action. They were maybe thirty seconds from coming, Draco knew, but he just had to say it.

"Was gonna die—you hated me—let me go and didn't stop me, even though—" Merlin, he was fucking crying now and it was so stupid he couldn't stop himself doing it. Best moment of his thrice-cursed life and here he was, buggering it up like a sobbing schoolgirl over a dead Kneazle kitten, making Harry despise him all the more for being such a poncey twat. "Figured you'd not bother," his mouth went on merrily without him, no holds barred. "Why ever should you bother with me, anyway, Potter? Never, ever wanted me in the first place, damn it! And why the fuck not?"

Harry snogged him. That was his answer for all those years of rejection and derision. He snogged him—Draco Malfoy. It was a huge revelation. Draco came, shouting out his surprise and pleasure against Potter's gums, and then sagged, still pumping away at Harry's cock, his hand on automatic. Two, maybe three seconds later, Harry followed him, and they were both be-gooed by spent cum and perspiration and sliding down the cold plaster wall to land in a muddled heap on the floor.

It was perfect.

"You're bloody unstable, Draco," Potter observed, after a minute's hard panting. "You don't just shag people who stop by to return your things, you know. It's mental."

"Yeah?" Draco asked, and wrapped his person a little tighter round Harry's. "Well, I'm not at all surprised, given what I have to deal with, Harry. You're not exactly all ducks in a row yourself."

"Git," Harry returned, without rancour. He showed no signs of imminent leaving. Draco smiled toothily. "So, how'd you know, anyway? Er...what gave me away?" Harry asked, brows knitting in that adorable way they had.

Draco smiled harder—broader, whiter, with lots of happy teeth. Rather remarkably reminiscent of his grandmother's favourite Kneazle, who, thankfully, was deceased. "Ah," he replied, "That would be telling, wouldn't it? Come have some tea with me, Harry, and maybe I'll tell you."

"Er—" Harry hesitated just a moment too long and Draco flinched. "Um. Alright."

Perfect—just perfect.

FINITE


End file.
